Nevermore
by thearcadian
Summary: Subtitled 'The Madness of Madame Chuffrey' in which Lady Glinda takes matters into her own hands. Prominent Gluffery Glinda/Chuffrey and rated for domestic violence.


"That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.  
Nothing further then he uttered - not a feather then he fluttered -  
Till I scarcely more than muttered `Other friends have flown before -  
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.'  
Then the bird said, `Nevermore.'"

_The hurt was everywhere. It throbbed steadily, timed to the beat of her heart. She was accustomed to the promise of heavy bruising. Fever burned her mind, impossibly dark eyes rimmed in red. She could see all this in the polished brass plated bedposts. Harder to reconcile was the dull ache between her thighs. Sweat soaked silk draped itself around her fragile body, but still those sickly blue eyes managed to gleam giddily as she leaned over her husband. _

_She rested her head on his chest for a moment, contented by the low thrum of his heart. He rested lightly, not quite asleep. She cherished the sound, storing it in her memories._

_She eyed his peaceful face__…__nevermore. The bruises, the aches, the exhaustion and constant fear, and the lies…the blood__…__none of it would matter anymore. Her hand slipped from it__s__ place at his side, and under the pillows. She had no need to search, for she had taken the care to recall every detail. She knew that she wanted to remember this moment. She was careful not to pull her head away from his chest, and calmed her own breathing; he must be kept unaware._

_Tonight, for once, he would conform to her wants and needs. Her hand pulled slowly from under the pillow, desired object clasped in hand. A soft sigh escaped her; her soul was soothed, as she soaked in the feeling of rough wood and metal under her hand. It was enough to rouse her husband, just so that he opened his eyes to meet hers. As she wished for him to do. His eyes fluttered closed again, lost in simple feeling as she brought up her hand and lightly brushed the side of his arms up to his neck with the knife. He imagined it to be her nails stroking his skin lovingly. He imagined it as affection, and in a way, it was. She was pleased to see his eyes snap open as she pierced his skin. His mouth fell open in shock and his eyes were glazed in confusion, before realization sharpened them._

_It was glorious, being able to force such emotions upon him. When she saw that glint of fear in his eyes she became intoxicated. It rushed through her leaving a warm, pleasurable burn in its wake._

_The feeling of absolute control consumed her._

_Then he snarled in anger and his arms shot up from the bed as he made to reach for her neck. She quickly tightened her grip and shoved the knife deeper, growling savagely and pushing him back on the bed. He would never touch her again. She wouldn't allow it._

_She didn't have to allow it. 'Nevermore,' she thought to herself. _

_Nevermore._

_"Nevermore!" she cried, loosing control of herself. She pulled out the knife and swung it widly, slashing at his face, his chest, and the bedding. She even left a deep gash on the headboard before reigning herself in, breathing heavily and grinning madly. _

_His blood was pooling on the sheets now, sinking in, contrasting sharply with their silvery grey. Glinda was pleased with the effect. She'd had the maids dress the bed in silk for exactly this purpose. Silk, when mixed with blood made far more aesthetically pleasing designs. Cotton, satin and flannel just could not compare. She had wondered if Chuffrey would soak their sheets in his own design, unique from hers. It didn__'__t._

_Curious. _

_She smiled in satisfaction as a last gasping breath gurgled and rattled away in his throat. He shared the last of his warmth generously. _

_His twitches calmed and his skin cooled and she rolled over on her side and let herself doze, exhausted but satisfied, and a little proud of herself. Finally, she could be at peace._

_But the little smile on her lips was twisted, and her eyes were darker than ever…lost in their own depths._

Warmth radiated from the unmoving lump opposite her.

Her eyes fluttered opened and tenderly she shifted her body back to him. She caught the gentle rise and fall of his chest, and sighed. She turned away, careful not to jostle her husband into wakefulness as she laid herself at the edge of their bed. The sun, rising past the window on Chuffrey's side of the bed, cast their silhouettes on the old quoxwood floors. She watched them intently, his overwhelming bulk consuming her petite shadow.

"Nevermore," she whispered to herself.

She lay there without many other thoughts until she felt Chuffrey stirring. She stretched and rolled over, wincing as she hit a deep bruise on her hip, but continued on, lifting herself up on an arm and slipping a hand under his pillow so she was leaning over her husband with a soft smile. His eyes blinked open and he grinning sleepily, pleased to find his little wife there to greet him, as a good wife should – he thought. He slung a meaty arm around her waist, dragging her down to him and placed a sloppy, forceful kiss on her.

It took everything she had to hold back a grimace, and she tightened her hold on the inconspicuous knife under his pillow. But then he released her and she let go, returned to her side of the bed as he left it.

A cold, lonely feeling swept over her body, and she curled into herself...a hopeless, despertate wreak of a woman...NO! No...

'Nevermore…' she thought with resolve, and gripped the knife again.

"And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting  
and his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,  
and the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;  
and my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor  
shall be lifted – nevermore!"

- The Raven, Edgar Allan Poe

* * *

A/N - Just a little oneshot that I toyed with a while ago when I'd first seen Wicked and subsequently read the book. Even though she's my favourite character I always thought Glinda went a little loony in the end, and I thought Chuffrey (not just Elphaba) played a part in that. I also thought she had a capacity for violence and ruthlessness that I rarely see explored in fanfiction. I thought the The Raven, by the mad poet Poe, highlighted what I hoped I conveyed was the repeditiveness of Glinda's situation.


End file.
